


Go Out With A Lion's Roar

by feldman



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, do you like movies about gladiators, laika deserved better, maybe hulk's the vegetarian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24281119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feldman/pseuds/feldman
Summary: Hulk gets a life. Title from Cyndi Lauper's "She Bop".
Relationships: Brunnhilde | Valkyrie & Hulk (Marvel)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	Go Out With A Lion's Roar

For the first time the anger turns inside. The memories Banner didn’t keep under wraps, the destruction Hulk didn’t, both linger like puke on his tongue. He feels sorry, and sorry for himself.

He was given nightmares that were real, he was given a kiss, and then given another chance. He did what he could to make it right, but it’s flowers for a black eye.

He makes people sad, and dead. So he flicks off the screen and points the nose up.

The quinjet asks him questions.

He says, “Higher. Faster.”

The machine shudders around him and talks about oxygen scrubbers.

He flexes his hand, picturing a scrubby sponge. It’s not one of Banner’s memories, because he’s standing on a stool to reach the sink; it’s from the _before_ time, before _everything_. He wasn’t always a monster.

The jet levels out, and tells him about fuel levels and orbit decay.

He opens his fist, picturing dogs shot into space. Russian dogs. He hopes the dogs weren’t lonely before they died. They didn’t deserve any of that.

He punches himself in the head.

He’s not a dog. He’s not a good boy. For a little while there, he didn’t think he was a monster either, but he’s less sure of that. He knows what Banner would say. He wouldn’t ask him even if he could find him.

There is nothing in space, no warmth, no air. The stars don’t even twinkle. He cries until he can’t breathe through his stupid nose.

The wormhole rips him from sleep, rips him from the jet crinkling like a paper airplane, flinging both down a gravity well. Hulk bounces free like a superball.

He comes to rest in rubble looking up at the sky.

It’s night here. The stars wink again, and he heaves a sigh. He could almost let go now, let this be Banner’s problem.

 _Fuck_ Banner.

Hulk curls up and comes eye to muzzle with a gauntlet. This one is silver instead of red, but it irks him just the same. He tells the weapon, “Waste of ammo,” to see if there’s a person behind it.

“Waste of liquor,” a woman’s voice replies, “waste of an evening.”

Hulk laughs. The night reeks of spent explosive, burnt electronics, hydraulic fluid, mud, and now booze. He lifts one finger and she lets him push the gauntlet away from his face.

Someone scrambles away behind him, yelping, “He’s yours!”

The woman rolls her eyes.

Another voice cackles, “If you can haul him in!”

Her shoulders square up. “Oh, that’s never a problem.” Her boots slip on the broken concrete but she closes in like a missile. “You look like a fighter.”

Hulk shakes the rubble from himself and grunts, watching to see which answer she takes it as.

“You’ll come with me,” her mouth twists, her grin like gum she doesn’t want to share with the rest of the class, “won’t you?”

Where else is he gonna go?

~*~

Hulk is not stupid, but he is tired, and he makes enough mistakes that the woman comes down into the bullpen to yell at him.

“What’s your problem with training? You get stronger and faster, you learn new weapons…?” Her eyes bug out but her hands on her hips are relaxed. She is always angry, but never at Hulk.

“Hulk never train.” He stretches his chest and looks down at her. “Only fight.”

She rolls her eyes, “Well think how much better you’ll be with some practice.”

No one has ever told Hulk to think before. He trains with her until his stomach growls. She plants a boot in the middle of his back and shoves him off to dinner with the other fighters.

Angry Girl doesn’t tell him The Games are a game. Hulk figures this out for himself.

Hulk doesn’t want to kill, but he loves to fight, and preen, and thump his chest. In the bullpen he learns what makes a good champion. He learns how to take a fall with a loud crash, and how to pull a punch. He lets trainers ice him and tape him, and rub him down with liniment.

He works his way out of the bullpen, and Angry Girl is there. She hovers above the roaring stadium in her striped flyer, and sends her good luck to him by smashing a bottle against his back.

After he wins, she shows him how to smile at the crowd.

He’s moved out of the bullpen and into the Grandmaster’s tower. He scoops up his clothes and his bedroll, wishing Banner would wake up enough to see that he’s not the only one people could want. Then Angry Girl shows up, sends his things away with a palace guard, and they train in the gym just like before. When she drops him off at his new room, she shows him it has a hot tub and a bar. 

“Won’t fit Hulk,” he pouts. He plays dumb, because she never falls for it, and because he doesn’t want her to leave him in this new place just yet.

“What,” she comes back from the bar, arms full. Her white out arrows point right to her playful dimples. “Am I supposed to get in there with you, prove it’s big enough for you and a friend?” She waggles her eyebrows.

Hulk looks away, shrugs, pulls open doors and drawers in the kitchen. She called herself his friend. “Hulk doesn’t want that. Just friend.”

She doesn’t smash her empty. This isn’t the stadium. She flings it gently into a corner near the door. “Orgy cruises are going to be a problem for you, then.”

“No cruises. Fight, win, rest, train.”

Angry Girl sits on a counter and watches him sniff and munch around the kitchen. She tells him things about strength and power, how to handle the Grandmaster, how to work the wins and work the crowd so he can keep fighting. Even a traitor to the throne can make a career of it, if he plays it smart.

“Hulk smart,” he spits seeds into the trash corner, “Hulk handles bullies.” He was born under the roof of the worst bully he’d ever met. At least this one likes him, likes Angry Girl. Likes games, and music, and fucking. Doesn’t like to get his hands dirty. Wouldn’t smash Angry Girl’s head, punch and punch and scream.

Mom...mouth gaping like a fish dropped on a floor, and Brian…

It was Banner’s job to carry this, but the witch gave it to Hulk. He thinks maybe Banner got something from Hulk that he’s too puny to carry.

“You all right?”

Hulk sniffs, and hands Angry Girl one of the smaller husked fruits that taste like banana mango. “Should eat more. Get vitamins.”

She tosses the fruit and catches it. It’s not eating, but at least she’s put the bottle down and isn’t asking him what’s wrong. “What is ‘vidah-mins’?”

“Help you grow. Get stronger, faster.”

“Pfft, too damn strong already,” she pulls a knife and chops through the husk, nibbling between bottles.

Angry Girl knows surviving is unfair, but what else is there? She also carries pain into a future she never wanted. Can't get rid of it, can't put it down. Hulk likes that Angry Girl even fights her fruit.

~*~

Hulk shovels his hands under her shoulders and knees. Her head rolls against his chest.

Too damn strong, she said. Hulk didn’t need Angry Girl to tell him strength is not simple. Strength comes from will, toughness and spite, strength comes into being with a purpose, protection or revenge, to shove back against hurt.

On the sleeping platform he rolls her gently onto the bed. He can smell the hurt under the booze. Smells metallic and familiar.

He sits on the edge and nudges her onto her side. It’s important, but he can’t remember how he knows this...that’s Banner’s business, and this world is no place for puny Banner. This place is Hulk’s.

He pokes the blankets and furs away from her face, but she still snores. It makes his own head feel heavy, so he drags a pillow under it.

He dreams of a shaggy brown dog, grizzled muzzle tugging on one end of a rope. The other end is in his hands, except he’s also the dog.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in two days. Those days were two and a half years apart, but whatever.
> 
> The title...I can't explain. It made sense on Day 1 of writing. On Day 2 I didn't remember what I was thinking, was it about the colors, the eighties vibe of Sakaar, the cheeky subversive feminism, Lauper's pro-wrestling angle, the happy ending? I rewatched the video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KFq4E9XTueY) and the only answer I came up with was just Yes.


End file.
